


The Mandela Effect

by Ethereal_Wishes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-03-24 12:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereal_Wishes/pseuds/Ethereal_Wishes
Summary: Mandela Effect: A theory put forth by writer and "paranormal consultant" Fiona Broome that shared memories are in fact glimpses into parallel worlds with different time lines.Belle French - town librarian of Storybrooke - is taken aback when a mysterious stranger comes to her library wishing to check out a book.  She becomes overly curious about this individual and decides to look up his information in her database but there isn't any record of him.  In fact, no one in Storybrooke has ever heard of a Mr. Gold.  Belle dismisses it as a fever dream until he shows up two weeks later to return his books.  She confronts him as being a fraud, but he reassures her he's lived in town for years.  He shows her his shop which she never recalls seeing before.  Belle feels as if she's succumbing to the madness, because at times he exists and at others he doesn't.  Will she uncover this strange phenomenon or be left in the dark?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imgilmoregirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imgilmoregirl/gifts).



The Mandela Effect

A/AN: Something completely strange and peculiar from yours truly...

Mandela Effect: A theory put forth by writer and "paranormal consultant" Fiona Broome that shared memories are in fact glimpses into parallel worlds with different time lines.

Belle French – town librarian of Storybrooke – relished her quiet, mundane life. She enjoyed the privilege of traveling the world during her twenties, finishing off her masters degree by thirty, and settling down in the quaint town of Storybrooke by thirty-two. At age thirty-five, Belle was thankful for the slower pace her life had taken. Perhaps it was because of the recent diagnosis her primary care physician had given her – multiple sclerosis.

The news had devastated her, eaten her up inside. She'd sought therapy from the town psychiatrist. Her sessions with Archie Hopper had put things into perspective for her. She'd been granted opportunities and experiences most would never partake of within their lifetime. He'd encouraged her to take a slower pace and hire an assistant to help manage her workload. Belle had begrudgingly done both.

She'd made her life as simple and carefree as possible, but something was missing. She hadn't realized what it was until a man with shoulder length, graying hair stopped in the library one drizzly afternoon. He'd halted by the reception desk, scanning the shelves of books, absorbing each intricate detail.

"May I assist you?" The Librarian inquired, assessing the immaculately dressed man with a gold tipped cane. She'd emerged from the backroom, startling him.

"Ahh yes, I'm searching for a book on upholstery. Do you have one?" The gentleman inquired – a nervous tinge to his voice.

"I can certainly check." The Librarian smiled warmly, taking her place behind her desk. She tapped on the keyboard of her ancient computer. Mayor Mills refused to find adequate funding in the town budget to update her equipment.

"It seems we have three: "Complete Step-by-Step Upholstery", "Contemporary Upholstery", and "Upholstery: A Manuel of Techniques"," she supplied, meeting his gaze.

"I'd like to check out all three if you don't mind," he insisted.

Belle furrowed a delicate brow at the stranger. "I don't just loan books out to strangers. You'll have to secure a library card," she instructed.

He chortled lightly. "Fine, what information do you need-" he halted, pining for a name.

Belle paused, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Belle French is my name, and I'll need your full name and home address."

"Rummond Gold; 476 Pine Wood Lane," he remarked, returning her smile.

"Your address isn't in my database," she retorted, gazing at him funnily.

"It wouldn't be, Ms. French; I'm the lone resident which lives on that street," he told her, planting his cane in front of his feet.

"It's no matter," she dismissed, filling out the remaining information and handing him the lamented card once it'd been printed from the machine.

He tucked the card securely in his suit pocket. "I'll retrieve those books for you," she stated, rounding the desk and heading towards the hobby section. With the volumes stacked in her arms, she padded back to the desk. He was waiting for her arrival, a curious gleam in his eye. She stamped the books, handing them to him.

"They're due two weeks from today, but you may check them out again after the duration period if needed," she informed him.

"Thank you again, Ms. French. I truly appreciate your help," he replied gratefully.

"It was my pleasure, have a nice evening, Mr. Gold." She nodded curtly at him. He ambled out the door, leaving her in isolation. She closed half and hour early when her legs began to pulsate with pain. She retired to her caretakers apartment, took an extra dose of her prescribed medication, and settled down for the evening for some leisurely reading. Rummond crossed her mind a few times. She was well acquainted with everyone in Storybrooke. She'd frequented all the social functions sponsored by the Mayor and town council, but she'd never heard of a Mr. Gold.

The following morning she'd stopped by Granny's – the only town diner – for breakfast. Everyone visited the diner on some occasion. She'd inquired to Ruby Lucas – co-owner – about him.

As Ruby poured the librarian her coffee, a puzzled look eclipsed her features. "From my knowledge, there isn't anyone in Storybrooke with that name. But I could ask Granny for you," the waitress offered.

"That would be splendid, Ruby," she returned, taking a sip of her steaming brew.

A few moments later the brunette had returned, shrugging her shoulders, she said, "Sorry, Belle, but Granny has never heard that name before either. Must be some fellow from out of town."

"I appreciate your help, Ruby." Belle sighed, finishing off her coffee and paying the bill.

Belle mulled over the enigmatic Mr. Gold more than she should have. "You're not insane, Belle, just look up his info in the computer," she mumbled under her breath during her afternoon lunch hour. As she searched the archives, nothing appeared.

"This isn't possible!" she mumbled in frustration. When his information didn't register in the computer, she did a quick search of the books he'd checked out. "What the … I must be going mad," she mumbled, noting the books were still listed for availability. She groaned, rubbing her aching temples. She was having a moment of pure insanity. She opted to call Ashley Boyd-her librarian assistant - and take the remainder of the day off. The last remaining piece of information she had was his address; she'd somehow memorized it. She'd rolled out of the bed the following morning, tuning the coordinates into her GPS. Pleasantly surprised to see the coordinates had registered, she drove herself to Pine Wood Lane – a small dirt road off the beaten path. At the end of the road was a cabin. Belle parked her car in front of the house, rubbing her shoulders to generate warmth. She was a lunatic for going through with this plot, but she had to know the truth about Mr. Gold. Was he real or merely a figment of her imagination?

She brazenly padded up the steps, knocking hesitantly. An eternal minute passed before she heard the shuffling of feet. She was stunned to see Leroy – the town drunk – answer the door.

His eyes were bloodshot and he sported a five o'clock shadow. "What's the town librarian doin' 'ere? Come to collect my late charges?" he guffawed.

Belle flushed deeply. "No, I'm sorry for barging in uninvited. It's just, I thought someone else lived here."

An amused grin stretched across his face. "Like who? A dwarf?"

"No, never mind, someone came to the library a couple of days ago, checked out some books, but he isn't showing up in my database. He gave me this address," she informed him.

"Hate to disappoint you, sister, but I'm the only one that lives in these parts. Maybe it was someone else and you were merely drunk," he mocked, slightly buzzed.

"Must be," she muttered, turning on her heel and leaving.

Two weeks passed; Belle assumed her "run in" with Mr. Gold had all been a fever dream. Yes, that's what had happened. She'd fallen asleep at her desk and conjured him up. One of the side effects of her medication was vivid dreaming. She'd put the entire escapade to rest, reassuring herself he'd only been the result of a hallucination.

It was a Wednesday, and she'd decided to close early. Traffic had been slow all day, and she couldn't think of a better alternative than heading up to her apartment, ordering some Chinese takeout, and soaking under mounds of bubbles as she read her latest novel.

The moment she was about to walk from her desk to lock the door, the bell dinged above the entryway. She bit back a curse, hoping whomever it was didn't meander about. Her breath hitched in her throat upon hearing the tap-tap of a cane. Mr. Gold appeared before her once more, and she bit her lip hard to keep from screaming.

"Good day, Ms. French, I've brought back the books I borrowed. Quite handy, they were," he said, granting her a genuine smile. He frowned slightly, noting her ghastly expression. "Ms. French, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost," he observed, concerned.

Belle threw her head back, laughing humorlessly. "Quite a joke you played, Mr. Gold, if that's even your real name. Did you break in here and erase your name from my database? You were clever enough to even re-shelf the books you borrowed. I bet you went out and purchased those in your hand to give me a good laugh. And that bogus address you gave me, Leroy, the town drunk lives there. Quite all the trouble for a measly prank, wouldn't you agree?"

He granted her a perturbed look. "Ms. French, are you feeling ill? I do live on Pine Wood, and these books are the exact ones you lent me. See, here's the date you stamped them," he retorted, opening the books to show her he was telling the truth.

"Ahh, yes, I did stamp them," she mumbled, collecting them from him. "However it still doesn't explain how no one seems to know who you are in this town," she countered.

"I'm quite well known in this town, Ms. French. Care to take a stroll with me? I can show you where I work," he said, offering her his arm. Belle hesitantly looped her arm through his, deciding to play along. They walked down Main Street and across the road, and there it was: Mr. Gold's Pawnshop in bright red lettering greeted her.

"You're a pawnbroker, and you weren't lying," she mumbled quizzically.

"Yes, I've been in business for quite sometime, thirty years almost. Would you like to come inside? I could show you around," he offered.

Too flabbergasted to accept his proposal, Belle opted to decline, wanting no part of this deranged sorcery. "How about tomorrow? I'm feeling a bit under the weather this evening."

Gold nodded amicably. "Most certainly, I hope you feel better, and take this."

Belle blinked owlishly as he placed his lavender pocket-square in the palm of her hand. "A small token to remind you that I'm not a figment of your imagination." He grinned impishly, closing her hand over the square. He made his way across the street, returning to his shop. As he stood by the entrance, he waved goodbye to her before heading inside.

Belle stalked back to the library, her head feeling fuzzy. She locked the doors, turning the open sign to close, and stumbled up to her apartment. A sudden wave of exhaustion overwhelmed her as she collapsed onto her bed, not bothering to change her clothing.

When Belle awoke the next morning, she was still clutching the pocket-square. Her meeting with Mr. Gold felt vague and blurry, but she knew it had happened until she examined the square. Instead of lavender, it was cornflower blue. She recognized it as being her own handkerchief. She rolled back over in bed, refusing to dwell on it. It was obvious she'd fallen asleep and dreamed of him again, but in her heart she knew it wasn't that simple.

A/AN: More to come, please review!


	2. Chapter 2

The Mandela Effect: Part Two

A/AN: Thank you for your patience. Let me know if you all catch the "Stranger Things" reference.

Belle felt as if she were wandering within a daze when she locked up one Friday evening. She was dressed in her yoga attire, ready to do some stretches with her instructor, Ursula. Dressed in her workout clothes, water bottle in hand and a towel slung over her shoulder, she walked down the street, caught off guard when she heard someone calling her name. Her heart slammed into her ribcage as she gazed in the direction of the voice. Mr. Gold was waving to her from his shop which wasn't there five minutes ago. The last shift had left her utterly exhausted but this time she felt no ill effects. She threw her hand up haphazardly, returning the wave. It'd been a solid month since she'd last seen him. Was this real, or was she passed out somewhere upstairs, knocked out senseless from one of her medications?

She sucked in a deep, cleansing breath, deciding to do the brave thing. She marched towards him, suppressing her desire to hyperventilate when he opened the door for her. 

"How about you come inside? I made a fresh pot of tea," he stated invitingly. 

"I'd be obliged," she remarked, stalking past him, wondering if she was being tricked and about to step into a portal to Hell. The scent of sage and pine filled her nostrils, instead of the smoke and brimstone she'd expected. Perhaps it was safe after all. She kept telling herself that, attempting to quell her unsteady nerves.

"Lovely establishment you have here, quite a collection of antiques," she observed, scanning the shop and absorbing each minute detail. 

"Thank you, how about that tea before it gets cold?" he suggested, and she could sense he was growing antsy. Perhaps tea was code for I'm about to devour your soul, or maybe he truly was nervous – anxious about being in the presence of a beautiful woman. 

"Certainly," Belle replied, following him to the back of his shop. There was a table in the back covered with a white lace dolly. Two blue porcelain cups sat atop it, offering a warm greeting. He shed his suit jacket, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He pulled out a chair for her.

She blushed prettily. "Thank you, Mr. Gold."

"Please, just call me Rum," he requested, opting to ditch formalities. 

"Alright, Rum," Belle repeated his name, rolling the "R" in her alluring accent. He shuddered at the sound, realizing how much he'd missed hearing her voice. He carefully picked up the whistling kettle, carrying it over to the table. He tilted it over her cup, pouring.

"Sugar or no?" he asked.

"None please," she replied, taking a lingering sip of her brew, the flavor of the tealeaves invigorating her senses, creating an illusion of reality. As long as she focused on the taste then she knew it couldn't be a dream - them taking their tea together in this alternate realm where she didn't truly exist.

"Such a lovely day outside," he commented.

"Yes, and I presume any minute now I'll wake up in my own kitchen, realizing I brewed this pot of tea myself," she scoffed loudly.

He cast her a perturbed glance. "Still believe I'm a figment of your imagination I see."

"Yes, or perhaps a side effect of my medication," she rebutted.

"Do you believe in fate, Ms. French?" he posed.

"I prefer facts, Mr. Gold. It's one reason I became a librarian. I don't like things which are unpredictable and jarring," she retorted, placing her cup back down on the table with a clack.

"Like my presence," he jested.

"No, I very much enjoy your company. I just wish I knew if this were reality or the Upside Down," she respired exhaustively.

"The Upside Down?" He wrinkled his nose in contemplation.

Belle chortled at his uncanny expression. "It's what I call this universe, the one I'm sometimes a part of and other times not."

He reached his hand across the table, lightly grasping hers. "What if you willed yourself to stay in this realm - the Upside Down as you call it."

She was startled by his movement but instinctively squeezed back. "I can't just will it; it has unpredictable timing, but I suppose the Universe wished for me to see you today," she surmised.

"I'm glad I can be your escape from reality," he joked, smiling a smile that crinkled the age lines in his face, causing butterflies to swarm within her abdomen.

"But what if I wake up? I don't want to, you're the realest thing I've beheld in my life in ages," she lamented, drumming her fingers anxiously against the oaken table.

"The chasm is widening; I don't think you'll have to worry about such trivial matters much longer," he said, daringly reaching out to curl a stray chestnut ringlet around his index finger

"Do you know how we can stop the reverse?" she queried, her limbs feeling boneless from his close proximity.

"We force it to give us what we want," he stated.

"But how!?" she respired heavily.

"By tricking it into believing you're very much apart of the scenery," he illuminated, his breath ghosting over her lips. She leaned forward, attacking his lips, grasping at the thin fibers of reality which separated them.

She gazed at him, dazzled when their lips parted. "The day after we last parted, my handkerchief turned lavender to blue the next morning. It's why I thought I was dreaming."

"Then perhaps you need a talisman, something to inform you when you're in the Upside Down," he grinned, holding up his finger - a signal for her to wait.

Belle observed as he sauntered to the front of his shop, pulling back the curtain. He returned, holding a scarlet hair ribbon. "May I?" he asked, reaching for her wrist

She held it out to him, and he gingerly wound the ribbon around it, tying it in a delicate knot. "If it remains red you'll know I'm nearby, but if it changes, you'll know I'm not." He smiled coyly, a tinge of melancholy flickering across his gaze.

"Thank you," she whispered, touching the ribbon carefully.

"You're welcome, until we meet again," he said, reaching up to delicately touch her face.

"And we will," she confirmed, holding it in place momentarily.

She was hesitant to part, afraid he'd slip through her fingers in wisps of smoke. To her dismay, when she awoke the next morning, the ribbon he'd gifted her with had turned a chartreuse green. She knew she was no longer in the Upside Down, and the prospect of such a travesty broke her heart.


	3. Chapter 3

The Mandela Effect: Part Three

A/AN: Long time with no update, I present to you chapter three.

Belle picked a piece of lint off her gray cardigan, rubbing it between her fingertips as she sat in Doctor Hopper's office. Gold had began to appear more frequently. They'd gone dancing after work one evening, had dinner at a five star restaurant he'd insisted on taking her to, and she couldn't help but thirst for more of his company. It had been nearly three weeks since she'd last seen him or his pawnshop across the street.

Dr. Hopper scribbled something down on his clipboard. "So, you've met someone, I take? You're positively glowing," he observed.

Belle twirled a chestnut ringlet around her index finger. "Yes, but he's not always present. No one in this town seems to have heard of a Rummond Gold."

Dr. Hopper blinked owlishly. "Is he from out of town?"

Belle shook her head, relaying the tale of how they'd first met and the debacle at the library. His handkerchief changing colors, and how the ribbon she always wore around her wrist would transform to red when he was around or remain green when he wasn't. She observed the ribbon, woven around her wrist. It was still green and hadn't changed for three entire weeks.

"Belle, are you getting enough sleep? Perhaps it’s a side effect from your medication. Hallucination is uncommon, but it can still manifest in some patients," he supplied.

"I get a full eight hours, sometimes more. I've purposely skipped my medication to see if I wasn't going crazy, but it seems irrelevant – unconnected to what I'm experiencing," she sighed, scrubbing her hand down her face in agitation.

Dr. Hopper's forehead creased into a thin line, concern flashing in his eyes. "Perhaps we should treat this as a hallucination. The next time you see this Mr. Gold, don't go with him. Evade him if possible, and perhaps he'll disappear. If that doesn't work, then I believe the next step would be to see a neurologist."

Belle nodded, though she knew she would never utilize the doctor's advice. Never seeing Rummond again was unreasonable. She was already a slave to the madness's thrall, whether she was truly losing her mind or it was real, in its own twisted way.

As fate would have it, he showed up the next day. He met her after work as she was locking up the library. "Hey, sorry I haven't been able to see you, I don't always have control of these things," he said, shoving his hands in his suit pockets.

Belle blinked rapidly, glancing down at the red ribbon on her arm. "My shrink says I should stay away from you, that you're merely a hallucination."

Rummond traced his fingertips down her jawline. She shuddered, leaning against his lithe frame. "If I wasn't real, then I wouldn't be able to elicit such strong reactions from you."

Belle instinctively stepped back, placing some distance between them. "If you're going to be in my life, then I need you to be in my life every single day, not sporadically."

Rummond's gaze softened. "Then you must will yourself to stay on the other side. The chasm had widened indefinitely between our worlds. All you have to do is step over into my reality. I can't cross over into yours, it's up to you."

Belle's head began to throb from his comment. "And how am I supposed to do that!?" She countered.

"Stop trying to rationalize what you don't understand. This world is full of plenty of nonsense – concepts which science and mathematics will ever be able to explain. Storybrooke just happens to be a gate to an alternate universe. At first I was unable to explain this phenomenon, but I've been researching it for several years, now. When someone fearlessly decides to cross over into the other reality, they'll remain there, forever, " he illuminated, poising his cane in front of him.

Belle guffawed. "I am a lunatic! This is all bloody madness!"

She attempted to push past him, but he seized her wrists. She gasped gazing into his sable depths. He rubbed soothing circles along the underside of her wrists. "When you're ready to make the journey, I'll be waiting," he said, dropping a kiss to her brow.

Belle wordlessly watched him walk away, opting to say nothing, though she yearned to chase him down and beg to go with him. But she didn't, instead she returned to her empty apartment. The ribbon on her wrist remained red, and she tore it off, tossing it haphazardly on her dresser. She took a long soak in the tub, driving her delusions away. When she made it back to her room, she daringly glanced at the ribbon. It was green again, but the expected relief hadn't came. Dread had taken up residency.

In the following weeks, Belle experienced unexpected weakness in her body. Dr. Whale had explained that her disease was progressing, and her medication was becoming less effective. Belle dreaded these changes and soon found herself able to work less and less. She spiraled into a fit of depression, barely leaving the house, except for what was necessary. She stopped taking her medications all together, and that's when things started to make sense.

It was storming terribly one night, but Belle couldn't resist the pull within her chest. Lightning struck somewhere in the distance as she willed herself to walk downstairs, despite her weak muscles. The library was under her apartment. She angled her body next to the book cases to steady her balance. When she made it to the front door, the glowing sign across the street greeted her, like a beacon of hope. Mr. Gold's pawnshop remained lit despite this hellish night. Belle forced open the door to the library. Stinging rain pelted her body as the wind whipped around her lithe frame. She didn't know how she managed to make it across the street, but she rapped loudly on his door until he answered – his awaiting arms, the haven she'd always craved.

"Welcome home, Belle, you're safe now," he whispered in his lilting accent.

Belle was unaware the world had shifted and changed the moment she walked into Mr. Gold's pawnshop. He held her securely within his embrace and wrapped her in a warm duvet. Belle relished being held by him, her aching muscles feeling useless as she collapsed into his embrace.

"I'm sorry, the medicine stopped working, and I-"

"-Shh," he crooned. "Don't worry about it, sleep. When you awaken, all will be right."

She attempted to stave off her exhaustion for as long as possible, but she was too weak to fight it. Belle allowed herself to drift into a dreamless state, wondering if she'd wake up in her own bed the next morning, with little to no recollection of their encounter.


End file.
